An Easter Hymn

        The Sun has come again and fed
            The lily's lamp with light,
        And raised from dust a rose, rich red,
            And a little star-flower, white;
        He also guards the Pleiades
            And holds his planets true:
        But we--we know not which of these
            The easier task to do.

        But, since from heaven he stoops to breathe
            A flower to balmy air,
        Surely our lives are not beneath
            The kindness of his care;
        And, as he guides the blade that gropes
            Up from the barren sod,
        So, from the ashes of our hopes,
            Will beauty grow toward God.

        Whate'er thy name, O Soul of Life,--
            We know but that thou art,--
        Thou seest, through all our waste of strife,
            One groping human heart,
        Weary of words and broken sight,
            But moved with deep accord
        To worship where thy lilies light
            The altar of its Lord.

John Charles McNeill

John Charles McNeill was a prominent American poet known for his works that vividly depicted the landscapes and spirit of North Carolina. Born on July 26, 1874, in Wagram, North Carolina, he won acclaim with his book 'Songs Merry and Sad,' which won the Patterson Cup in 1905. His poetry primarily reflects rural life and Southern traditions. Sadly, McNeill's promising career was cut short when he died on October 17, 1907, at the young age of 33.

John Charles McNeill

An Idyl

John Charles McNeill, Simple Poetry

Reminiscence

John Charles McNeill, Simple Poetry

Tear Stains

John Charles McNeill, Simple Poetry

An Invalid

John Charles McNeill, Simple Poetry

English

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Easter.

When dawns on earth the Easter sun
The dear saints feel an answering thrill.
With whitest flowers their hands they fill;
And, singing all in unison,

Unto the battlements they press--
The very marge of heaven--how near!
And bend, and look upon us here
With eyes that rain down tenderness.

Their roses, brimmed with fragrant dew,
Their lilies fair they raise on high;
"Rejoice! The Lord is risen!" they cry;
"Christ is arisen; we prove it true!

"Rejoice, and dry those faithless tears
With which your Easter flowers are stained;
Share in our bliss, who have attained
The rapture of the eternal years;

"Have proved the promise which endures,
The Love that deigned, the Love that died;
Have reached our haven by His side--
Are Christ's...

Susan Coolidge

An Easter Hymn

Spake the Lord Christ - "I will arise."
    It seemed a saying void and vain -
    How shall a dead man rise again! -
Vain as our tears, vain as our cries.
    Not one of all the little band
    That loved Him this might understand.

"I will arise" - Lord Jesus said.
    Hearken, amid the morning dew,
    Mary, a voice that calleth you, -
Then Mary turned her golden head,
    And lo! all shining at her side
    Her Master they had crucified.

At dawn to his dim sepulchre,
    Mary, remembering that far day,
    When at his feet the spikenard lay,
Came, bringing balm and spice and myrrh;
    To her the grave had made reply:
    "He is not here - He cannot die."

Praetor and priest in vain conspire,
    Jerusalem and Rome in vain

Richard Le Gallienne

Easter Lilies.

Darlings of June and brides of summer sun,
Chill pipes the stormy wind, the skies are drear;
Dull and despoiled the gardens every one:
What do you here?

We looked to see your gracious blooms arise
Mid soft and wooing airs in gardens green,
Where venturesome brown bees and butterflies
Should hail you queen.

Here is no bee nor glancing butterfly;
They fled on rapid wings before the snow:
Your sister lilies laid them down to die,
Long, long ago.

And here, amid the slowly dropping rain,
We keep our Easter feast, with hearts whose care
Mars the high cadence of each lofty strain,
Each thankful prayer.

But not a shadow dims your joyance sweet,
No baffled hope or memory darkly clad;
You lay your whiteness at the Lord's dear feet,

Susan Coolidge

An Easter Flower Gift

O dearest bloom the seasons know,
Flowers of the Resurrection blow,
Our hope and faith restore;
And through the bitterness of death
And loss and sorrow, breathe a breath
Of life forevermore!

The thought of Love Immortal blends
With fond remembrances of friends;
In you, O sacred flowers,
By human love made doubly sweet,
The heavenly and the earthly meet,
The heart of Christ and ours

John Greenleaf Whittier

April

The spring comes slowly up this way.
- Christabel.


T is the noon of the spring-time, yet never a bird
In the wind-shaken elm or the maple is heard;
For green meadow-grasses wide levels of snow,
And blowing of drifts where the crocus should blow;
Where wind-flower and violet, amber and white,
On south-sloping brooksides should smile in the light,
Oer the cold winter-beds of their late-waking roots
The frosty flake eddies, the ice-crystal shoots;
And, longing for light, under wind-driven heaps,
Round the boles of the pine-wood the ground-laurel creeps,
Unkissed of the sunshine, unbaptized of showers,
With buds scarcely swelled, which should burst into flowers
We wait for thy coming, sweet wind of the south!
For the touch of thy light wings, the...

John Greenleaf Whittier

The Flower-Angels

    Of old, with goodwill from the skies--
    God's message to them given--
    The angels came, a glad surprise,
    And went again to heaven.

    But now the angels are grown rare,
    Needed no more as then;
    Far lowlier messengers can bear
    God's goodwill unto men.

    Each year, the snowdrops' pallid dawn
    Breaks from the earth below;
    Light spreads, till, from the dark updrawn,
    The noontide roses glow.

    The snowdrops first--the dawning gray;
    Then out the roses burn!
    They speak their word, grow dim--away
    To holy dust return.

    Of oracles were little dearth,
    Should heaven continue dumb;
    From lowliest corners of the earth
    God's messages will come.

    In thy face...

George MacDonald